


Medicine

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It's a bitter pill to swallow. (Pre-DH.)





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

James is always talking about his cut-glass accent and his toffee-nosed expression and his aristocratic curls.

Remus is always talking about his stormy eyes that always seem to be ready to pick a fight, about his clenched fists with manicured nails leaving grooves in his palms, and about his magically-straightened, perfectly pearly white teeth, forever gritted in agitation and rage.

Peter is always talking about his sulking silences in class, his tendency to sit with crossed arms and refuse to make a single Potion, his unwillingness to pick up his wand in Transfiguration – and his perfect marks.

Sirius Black doesn’t talk.

Sirius Black writes letters.

He writes letters to Mother, mainly, asking her to get him out, to set him free. He writes letters to Dumbledore, decrying the school’s abominable treatment of him, the refusal to allow him to move to the House of his choice – the House of his _family_ , and did Dumbledore know that he was related to Salazar Slytherin himself?

Indeed, the reply came, Dumbledore was aware of the fact. Good day to you, Mr Black.

Then Sirius Black talked. Screaming, cursing, waving his wand around the dormitory like a lunatic: he didn’t know any magic three weeks into his Hogwarts education but his very rage set the beds on fire, slashed the hangings and put James Potter and Frank Longbottom in the Hospital Wing for a fortnight.

Peter and Remus saw him a week later for the first time, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, being frog-marched to Dumbledore’s office. That night, even the Seventh-Years were talking about “that Black kid”.

Lily Evans said he’d been expelled.

Dorcas Meadows, known for being fanciful, said he’d been _killed._

James thought he’d probably been moved to Slytherin.

But the next day the hangings were drawn around his bed and he wasn’t on any table at breakfast.

A few days later, Peter was nervously waiting for Remus outside the Hospital Wing ( _another_ cold, Peter reminded himself not to let Remus out without a scarf) when he saw a pale shadow flash past him towards the Grounds. Nervously setting down his schoolbag, he began to follow.

And there sat Black, on the floor just outside the castle, shooting flies with the tip of his wand. He was pale, but his eyes were red and puffy.

“You shouldn’t kill things.” Peter said disapprovingly, rather without meaning to, and for one short and maniac moment reflected on how like his mother he sounded. At his words, Black jumped and looked at him wide-eyed. He made as if to run but Peter, quicker than he looked, grabbed his arm. “My mother says it’s wrong.”

Black said nothing. Peter gave him a scolding look and reached for his wand, but he snatched it away and jabbed at a passing bee.

“They shouldn’t let you do magic,” Peter said angrily. “Not if you’re going to use it for that.”

Black turned to look at him, fixing him with a gaze so intense Peter felt his heart begin to pound. “They may as well not. Better a Muggle than a Gryffindor.”

“You don’t mean that,” Peter said with certainty.

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Black sneered. “Don’t talk to me.” He jabbed at the bee again. “Buzz off.” He snorted slightly at his own hilarity.

Peter turned to leave, but catching sight of his reflection in a window, glanced at his red-and-gold tie and turned back. He swallowed hard. “You’ve been crying.”

Black rolled his eyes and spat, “Yep.”

“I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, which was something of a relief to Peter. For all his jeering at Remus, he too was a bit scared of Sirius Black.

He swallowed again. “I am. I wish you were in Slytherin too. You’d be less miserable.”

Black was still for a long moment, and then nodded suddenly and Peter spied another tear welling up in that clear grey eye.

“And all my clothes wouldn’t be singed,” Peter added, with a slight laugh in his voice.

Black smiled slightly, ducking his head. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” Peter said agreeably, because his mother had always said that once a person had done wrong it wasn’t right to keep reminding them. There was no point, he’d always felt, in holding grudges.

Black scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. As he brought down his arm, Peter laughed suddenly.

“What are you laughing at?” Black snapped, and the walls went back up in his eyes.

Peter chortled. “You’ve got a huge ink stain all across your forehead now.” He raised his wand, and Black’s eyes widened in panic as he pointed its tip between his eyes, his entire body frozen with fear. “ _Scourgify._ _”_

The mark vanished. Black fell forwards with relief.

“Jesus, Pettigrew. _Never_ do that again. I was absolutely petrified.”

“Taste of your own medicine,” Peter muttered.

Black looked suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing.” He looked unconvinced. “Really. Let’s go find Remus.”

Black nodded, slowly, and allowed himself to be led back into the castle.

 

“Prongs, me ole’ mate!”

“Padfoot, drink to see you again! Come and have a nice!”

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes. “Why is it that you two greet each other like long-lost brothers when ten minutes ago he was handing you your wedding ring?”

Red-faced and more than completely smashed, Sirius threw his arm around James and turned to Lily. “Can’t find a love like ours, Mrs Potter, not for all the Galleons in Gringotts. In fact,” and here he raised his voice so that the whole reception could hear him, “in fact, I’ll like to take this moment to raise a glass to my Prongsie over here. My best mate, my oldest mate, in _fact_ ,” he downed the end of his champagne before continuing, “in fact, Prongsie here was my first mate ever. And now look around. Everybody loves me!” An appreciative roar of laughter rose from the almost-equally-inebriated crowd. “Prongs helped me at my lowest...my lowest...” tears began to run down Sirius’ face. He was always a rather embarrassing drunk. James offered him a handkerchief, “No, no, I’m f-f-fine. I just want everyone to know that you were my first mate, and I’m so happy to see you...” he started to giggle in prescience of his joke, “wait for it... _mating_ as well!” This time the roar of laughter was louder and a little more forced, as Sirius fell backwards and collapsed under a table.

Peter, unseen on the other side of the room, looked from James to Sirius, Sirius to James. His face seemed to hold no expression whatsoever.

But looks can be deceiving. Dorcas Meadows, Peter’s date for the night, smiled secretly and took another swig of Polyjuice Potion, as she watched her dance partner’s eyes flick back and back to her filthy blood traitor cousin.


End file.
